AFTER SEVERAL PHONE calls made to various Ryans in town, they arrived at a small, neat bungalow in a modest surburban neighborhood. The houses were shaded with mature trees, and the laughter of children playing filtered through the air.
Mildred Ryan was in her late eighties and wispy white hair covered her pink scalp. Time had bowed her back and shrunk her frame. She wore large black-rimmed glasses that seemed to swallow her tiny face. She sat huddled in a shawl in a comfortable chair in a bedroom of the bungalow, which was owned by her daughter.
That daughter, Julie Smithers, was eyeing Decker and his group suspiciously as they stood in the doorway of the bedroom.
“I really don’t see what my mother can tell you. It was a long time ago and her memory is not that good.”
Smithers was short, built like a bulldog, and her face held the same stubborn features of that canine breed.
Bogart said smoothly, “We just want to ask a few questions. If she’s not up to it we’ll leave and come back another time.”
Ryan looked up from the Bible she was reading, her finger touching each word. “Just tell them to come on in, Jules, and ask their questions. I’m up for it,” she said in a drawl that signaled her Mississippi roots.
Decker said, “Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her hearing.”
“Just don’t overtire her,” warned Smithers.
She left and Decker and the others moved slowly into the room.
Ryan pointed to two chairs, one of which Jamison took, and the other one Bogart offered to Decker. He sat down and slid the chair closer to Ryan. Bogart and Mars stood behind him. She looked up at all of them.
“Haven’t had this many visitors in years,” she said.
Bogart showed her his badge and said, “Mrs. Ryan, thank you for meeting with us.”
“You’re welcome. And what is this about?”
Decker said, “Your husband, Nathan?”
“He’s dead. Long time ago.”
“We know. But we wanted to ask some questions about him. Having to do with the church bombing back in 1968. Do you remember that?”
The shrunken woman seemed to collapse inward even more at these words. “Hell, who could forget? All those little colored children. It…it was such a shame.” She shook her head. “It’s the devil’s work. I said so then and I say so now.”
“We understood that your husband was one of the first on the scene of the bombing. That’s what his obituary said.”
She froze for a moment and then looked up at Decker. “What exactly is all this about?”
“You know that no one was ever arrested for the murders?”
“I know that.”
“Well, we’re here to see if we can find out who did it.”
“They’re all probably dead.”
“Maybe, but maybe not. If they were young back then they could still be alive. Like you are,” he added.
She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“But you might know more than you think,” said Bogart.
She looked up and suddenly registered on Mars. “When I said ‘colored’ just now, I didn’t mean any disrespect. Just the term we used back then. Should’ve said African American, or black. I’m sorry, young man.”
“That’s okay,” said Mars.
“It was just different back then,” mumbled Ryan. “Just different.”
“But maybe you can answer some of our questions,” prompted Decker.
“I’m old. I don’t remember much. It was a long time ago. I…I just want to be left alone.” Ryan looked back down at her Bible, her finger moving along the words, her mouth opening as she silently read them.
Decker glanced at Jamison, who said, “Do you read from your Bible every day, Mrs. Ryan?”
Ryan nodded. “I’m on Deuteronomy. The fifth book of the Hebrew Bible. Do you know it? I find young people don’t read the Bible anymore. Rather play video games or watch filth on the TV.”
“Moses’s three sermons to the Israelites,” replied Jamison. This drew surprised stares from all the men, and Ryan as well.
Jamison explained, “My uncle was a minister. I used to help teach Sunday school. The Israelites were on the plains of Moab. They were about to enter the Promised Land. This was after the forty years of wanderings, which was explained in the first sermon.”
“I’m impressed, child,” said Ryan.
“Now, if memory serves me correctly,” continued Jamison, “the third sermon talks about how if Israel is unfaithful and the loss of their lands follows, it can all be made right so long as they repent. I guess that was great comfort to them.”
Ryan was staring at her. “Why?” she said in a fierce whisper.
“Well, like us, the Israelites were only human. They made mistakes. God understood that. So if they fell down, they had another chance to make it right. So long as they repented, repented of their sins. Tried to do the right thing. That takes real strength. And real faith.”
Jamison fell silent and closely watched Ryan.
The old woman slowly closed her Bible, set it on the table next to the bed, clasped her hands in her lap, and said, “What sorts of questions do you folks have?”
Decker gave Jamison an appreciative glance and then turned back to Ryan.
“Do you know why your husband would have been so close to the church that night that he was one of the first on the scene after the bombing? From what we found out, there were houses all around the church, where I’m sure people ran out when the bombing happened. Was he driving by for some reason? Did he tell you about it?”
Ryan cleared her throat and took a moment to drink from a glass of water that sat next to her Bible. “Nathan was a good man. I want you to understand that. He was a good man,” she said more emphatically.
“I’m sure he was,” said Decker.
“Mississippi was falling apart back then. Hell, the whole South was. From the forties to the sixties and on. Riots, lynchings, shootings, things blown or burned up. Folks murdered. Federal marshals all over the place. The National Guard. Coloreds”—she stopped and shot Mars a glance—“I mean, African Americans, demanding things from the whites. It all shook us to our souls. That Thurgood Marshall winning all those court cases. Dr. King marching around like Sherman to the sea. Many folks saw it as the apocalypse.”
“Did you see it that way?” asked Jamison.
“I was scared,” she admitted. “The world I knew was turning upside down. Now, don’t get me wrong. It didn’t surprise me. Hell, if I’d been them, I’d have been demanding the same damn things. But, see, I wasn’t them, if you can understand that.” She glanced at Mars and then looked away. “And I was raised a certain way, and taught things that, thankfully, they don’t teach anymore. At least out in the open,” she added, with another nervous glance in the direction of Mars.
She grew quiet and no one interrupted the silence.
She continued, “Reverend Sidney Houston was the pastor at that church. He could deliver a sermon like no one else, I can tell you that.”
“How did you know that?” asked Decker. “Did you ever attend a service?”
Her eyes grew wide behind the spectacles. “Oh my goodness, no. I would’ve been tarred and feathered and run out of town. But you see, Reverend Houston would sometimes take the sermon outside on the front lawn of the church. And his voice carried. It was deep and powerful. And, well, some of us would get close enough to hear. The man knew his scriptures. And delivered the message forcefully. Made the church I went to seem downright boring by comparison.”
“Okay,” prompted Decker.
Ryan started talking faster and with more assurance. “He was a firebrand, that man was. He was taking on Cain like King was doing to Selma. Like that Marshall fellow had been doing to every court in the South. And that brought him up against some very powerful people hereabouts.”
“Do you know who they were?” asked Decker.
“Nathan worked in the mayor’s office. He was assistant mayor, in fact, at the time.”
“And the mayor was Thurman Huey,” began Decker.
She waved her hand dismissively. “The only reason Thurman Huey had that job was because of his daddy. He was barely out of college, still more boy than man. Nathan rightly should have been the mayor, but once Travis Huey spoke, that was that,” Ryan added, the bitterness clear in her tone. “You know, Travis Huey was a hero to many of us back then. We saw him as our protector.”
“And now?” asked Jamison.
Ryan pointed to her Bible. “He was a false prophet, spewing evil and hatred. And violence,” she added.
“Do you think he had anything to do with the church bombing?” asked Decker.
“Not Travis Huey. He’d never get his hands dirty.”
“And his son?”
Now Ryan seemed to shrink once more. She shook her head. “I don’t know one way or another.”
“What about your husband?”
She let out a long sigh. “I think…I think Nathan had some inkling. Some…” Her voice trailed off and she suddenly looked panicked, as though these long-ago memories were surrounding her and there was no escape from them.
“He had an idea that something bad was going to happen?” suggested Decker. “And that was why he was near the church that night?”
She nodded almost imperceptibly, her frail shoulders quivering.
Jamison reached out and put a comforting hand on the old woman’s arm. “Mrs. Ryan, it’s okay. I think that your husband was trying to do the right thing.”
Ryan sniffled, reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “He was a good man. But he didn’t work with such good people.”
“Did you know he posted bail, for five hundred dollars, for a man named Charles Montgomery?”
She rubbed her nose with the tissue. “He told me about that. Money sure didn’t come from him. We didn’t have that sort of cash to throw around. Certainly not for posting bail for someone we didn’t even know.”
“So he was told to do it? And given the money with which to do it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know by whom?”
“He was assistant mayor. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”
“So Thurman Huey?”
“Maybe his daddy gave him the money. I don’t know. Travis was a Dixiecrat,” added Ryan. “And he found good company in Washington. He almost derailed Thurgood Marshall being a Supreme Court justice, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Decker.
“I didn’t follow things like that, but my husband did. He didn’t think much of the Hueys. But he lived in Mississippi and he kept his mouth shut. He went into politics to try to do good. But it was hard to do good in Mississippi back then if it meant doing good for black folks.”
“That stance probably didn’t make him popular,” said Bogart.
“If you wanted a career in Mississippi back then you toed the line. He had a family to support, but that doesn’t mean he believed what those others did. Because he didn’t.”
“I’m sure,” said Jamison.
“But he did things, little things to help folks. He did it under the radar, so to speak.” She looked at Mars. “He helped folks like you, to the extent he could.”
“Sounds like a man ahead of his time,” replied Mars.
She nodded. “Old LBJ lost the South when he got the Civil Rights Act passed. Southern Democrats turned their backs on him. Travis Huey sure as hell did. He was furious, Nathan told me.”
Decker said, “You said that Travis Huey wouldn’t get his hands dirty by being involved in the bombing and you said you didn’t know if his son would, but do you think Thurman Huey might have been involved in the bombing?”
Ryan looked over at her Bible, reached for it, and opened it to where she had been reading. For a few moments Decker thought she was not going to answer.
“I will tell you that the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, certainly not with the Hueys.”
Decker looked at the others. “So you do think Thurman Huey was involved?”
“I don’t know, but I can tell you that Thurman had two very good friends. The Three Musketeers, folks called ’em back then. They were right famous in town.”
“Why was that?” asked Bogart.
“What else? High school football.”
And despite Decker’s asking several other questions, those were the last words the woman spoke.